


Touch Starved

by sassy_pelican



Series: Bucky Barnes One-Shots [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_pelican/pseuds/sassy_pelican
Summary: As an old friend of Sam Wilson you knew you could count on him when you needed. When you lose your apartment due to a nasty breakup, he offers you a place the Avengers* Compound, for a small price; you have to cook at least once a week. As you get to know the individuals better, you learn that Bucky Barnes has a super-soldier appetite for more than just food.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Bucky Barnes One-Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149938
Comments: 8
Kudos: 169





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

> Language, fluff, humor, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), 18+, nsfw  
> Resident Avengers: Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Wanda, Vision, Sam, Bruce. This is set after Civil War and is AU. Bucky also has his new arm featured in Infinity War and Endgame. Except for Bucky’s arm and the new Bruce/Hulk, the events of the last two movies didn’t happen.

The day you walked in on your boyfriend of three years fucking some random bitch you didn’t realize how much your life was going to change. You had only stood there, open-mouthed and gaping as he fucked her into next Sunday. The Chinese takeout slipping from your hands you stared as it hit the ground, interrupting their fuck-fest.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Jason, the douchebag, just stared as he debated trying to explain.

“Who are you?” The woman asks. You close your eyes, trying to gain a semblance of decorum before opening your mouth. _To hell with it._

“I am, was, his girlfriend. Of. Three. Years.” Her eyes go wide, hands clutching the sheet she was using to shield herself tighter now.

“Jason?” Her whiny voice is pleading. You want to vomit.

“Get out.” You mutter, barely above a whisper. They both hear you anyway. “Get out of my apartment!”

Hurriedly, they scramble for their clothes. Jason sends me a pleading look. “Baby…”

“Don’t.” You look him in the eyes, forcefully holding in the tears. “You don’t get to call me that. Not now. Not ever.”

“But –” You pick up his pants, the ones he still hasn’t put on, and throw them at him.

“I. Said. Get. Out.” He doesn’t argue after that.

You ate the Chinese food a few hours after they vacated the apartment. You sold it a few weeks after he came and picked up his stuff; the stuff you unceremoniously threw on the sidewalk.

~

The phone to Sam was a no-brainer. While the two of you had grown apart recently due to circumstances neither one of you could control, you knew him. You knew that in a pinch, he would help. Still, your voice shook as you explained. “I need a place to stay.”

“Of course. Although, I might mention that my current lodgings aren’t what you’re used to.” He says, rather sheepishly for Sam Wilson.

“What do you mean?” The phone becomes heavy in your hands as you await his response, the silence and his breathing on the other end deafening.

“I live at the Avengers Compound.”

“Oh.” You pause this time. “Am I allowed to stay over?”

“You are now.” He says as if it is the most obvious answer in the world.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just cook for everyone once a week, maybe more, and they won’t ever let you leave.” He said jokingly. You didn’t take it as a joke.

“Does anyone have preferences?”

~

The first night you were there everyone paid you far more attention than you cared for. You knew it was because of your status as a civilian in a place no civilian, except maybe someone’s bed partner for the night, ever stepped foot.

“Guy’s, this is [Y/N]!” Sam yells excitedly. You cringe alongside a few others. “She is staying here for a while.” He doesn’t let anyone question you as he pulls your arm and forces you to follow him to the room, he deemed adequate for his ‘best lady-friend.’

“I apologize in advance.” He turns to me. “You’re next to Barnes.”

“Why is that bad?”

“The walls are soundproof enough, but not completely. He has terrible nightmares; even after his time in Wakanda. This is the best room available though, so you’ll have to make-do.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect to be welcome at all once I heard where you live.” You mumble. “I’m sure the room will be fine Sam. Now, go hang out with your super-friends.”

He laughs, but does as you ask, only after dropping your bags on the floor.

With your own personal touches, the grey room won’t be bad, it just needs some love. Huffing out a sigh, you begin to unpack.

Hours after your arrival, the room to your liking, and everyone mildly accepting of your presence, you begin to plan the first meal.

~

The first meal was anything but boring. You decided to go with a classic: spaghetti and meatballs. You knew what you wanted, but now you needed the quantity resulting in a rather awkward conversion with Sam.

“How much does everyone eat?”

“Huh?”

“How much does everyone eat?” You ask again. Sam just stares at you.

“You’ve seen me eat, so like two servings of whatever for me. Wanda and Natasha eat like normal humans. Steve and Bucky eat enough for three people maybe four, and Bruce eats enough for six.”

You nod. Four hours later, twenty meatballs in, and five pounds of spaghetti later, you are ready to face the critics. The sound of everyone returning from their briefing with Tony before he left to go home lets you know it is time.

“What’s going on?” Wanda asks, Vision at her side.

“I made dinner?”

“You made all this?” Steve asks, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. It’s just spaghetti, albeit five pounds, but it is just spaghetti.” Everyone stares at you. “There are meatballs on the tray over there,” you point to them, “noodles and sauce are on the stove.” You swallow audibly and wait for everyone to react.

“How many meatballs did you fix?” Sam asks.

“Twenty, so eat sparingly.”

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I am having five!” Sam says.

“You are not!” You yell. Looking at everyone you smile. “Well, this isn’t a five-star restaurant, this is buffet style. Serve yourselves.”

They did. Between you and everyone else, there wasn’t a scrap left.

~

It had been weeks and you hadn’t heard Bucky have a nightmare. Tonight though, you did. It wasn’t loud, but that didn’t make it any less disturbing. The low moans and groans from your shared wall made you want to hug him. You didn’t know if he would like that, so you stayed where you were. Sleep didn’t come easy, the sounds he was making haunting you as you tried to close your eyes.

The next morning, he didn’t come out for breakfast. Silently, and after everyone left for their various tasks, you plated a stack of blueberry pancakes, a bottle of syrup, butter, and a fork, and knocked on his door.

“Bucky?” You ask through the door.

He doesn’t answer. You knock again. “I have pancakes.” He doesn’t respond, not even a rustling.

“James Buchanan Barnes! If this door is unlocked, I am coming in!” Adjusting your hold, you try the door, unlocked.

Cautiously, you open it. He is sitting on his bed, bent over, head in his hands, hair a mess, and back dripping with sweat. “Bucky. You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.” You set the plate and other things on the dresser. “Get up.” This time your tone is forceful.

He lifts his head, surprise on his features. “Get. Up.”

Reluctantly, he does. You hold out your hand. To your surprise, he takes it. “Eat. Then I will sit in here and help you fall asleep.”

“I can’t. I can’t fall asleep.” He mumbles, already digging into the food.

“You can.” You look at him, and he looks hollow. “You _can_ Bucky.”

“How?”

“Let me help you.” You stare him down, or rather up. “I went through something similar with Sam when he first came back. Let me help you.”

He nods, continuing to eat. “Do you have a hairbrush?” You ask.

“In the drawer.” He points to his nightstand. You nod, retrieving it.

“Finish your pancakes.” It doesn’t take him long. The empty plate forgotten on the dresser is not your priority.

“Sit.” You gesture to the place in front of you, between your legs.

Your fingers find his hair before the brush. Combing through it lightly, you scrap his scalp, only a bit. His shoulders relax after a few minutes. They relax even more as you use the brush. Minutes, hours, whatever pass, and he is leaning back unconsciously. Without thinking, you pull him down. His head now rested on your chest, arms encircling his. His breathing is even, eyes closed as his face is turned up to the ceiling.

“Sleep Bucky.”

It doesn’t take long before he does. It doesn’t take long before you follow him.

You wake to his head buried in your chest, and your hands woven into his hair. His breathing is the most even you have heard, even more than when he is ‘relaxed’ with everyone. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through his soft hair, the feeling cathartic even for you. It doesn’t even look like he moved, except for the fact that it is his face and the back of his head resting against you.

Looking at the clock beside his bed, you notice the time. _Four hours. We’ve been asleep for four hours._ Better than two, you surmise, but six would have been better. You can feel him begin to stir and hope he doesn’t overreact at the position.

“Bucky?”

“Huh?” He groans. The arms that are around your waist tighten, the vibranium now almost warm against the sliver of skin between your shorts and shirt.

“We probably need to get up.” You answer his muffled and incomprehensible question.

“Why?” Raspy, that’s what you’d call his voice, and despite your best efforts, it sends shivers down your spine.

“We’ve both been asleep for four hours.” You pause. “And I have to pee.”

He nods, barely, before lifting his head and looking around. The realization of where he has been hits him and his eyes go wide. You lock your arms, holding him tighter so he can’t move. “Bucky. It’s fine. Nothing happened. You were sleeping. I was sleeping.”

“Right.” You let go of him, and he stumbles off of you. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

~

For a few weeks the nightmares continued. Each time you would hesitantly go to him. You knew from Steve that he could get violent, not on purpose, but because he doesn’t know where he is. He never so much as laid a hand on you.

Every night it was the same. You would hear his groans, the sad and heartbreaking sounds of a broken man trying to heal, and his subconscious not letting him. You would open the door and be met with his hunched over and shaking figure, face usually wet with tears he never admits to. And every night, you would end up laying with him like that first day. And ever morning, you would wake up just as you did the first.

However, one seriously bad week had you questioning your tactics. Night after night, it would happen. Not once was there a break. Even with your nightly visits, he looked exhausted and haggard. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?” Everyone else had left the kitchen, leaving the two of you to clean up again.

“Why don’t I just stay with you tonight? It might help.” He stiffens at your suggestion.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt me yet. And I don’t believe you will.” He sends you a pleading look. “Even if you do, it won’t be consciously.”

After a few choice words and more persuading on your part, he relents.

That night, you crawl into bed with him, back against his chest, and his arm slung around your waist. A new position, but not one any less comforting. His warm breath on the back of your neck almost tickles, but you don’t move. “Sleep Bucky.”

“G’night [Y/N].”

You are startled awake when you hear a loud bang from his bathroom. Bucky is no longer beside you, his side of them bed cold. Hearing a strangled sob, you jump up. “Bucky!”

The sight of him, curled into his self on the shower floor, water that is far too hot scalding his back, almost breaks you. “Bucky look at me.” You plead.

He does, his eyes rimmed with red and all but hollow. “I killed you.” You don’t interrupt him.

“I killed you. The one person that doesn’t want me to put on a brave face. I still had my other arm, and it was wrapped around your throat. You died.” At every word another tear falls from each of you.

Without thinking, you get into the shower with him, cooling the water down some. You take his flesh hand and put it against your heat. “Bucky. I’m here. I’m real. You didn’t kill me.” The shakiness of both your breathing is the only sound except for the water.

“But I could’ve.”

“But you _didn’t._ You didn’t touch me.” You hand squeezes his and he nods. Let’s get you out of your wet clothes and cleaned up okay?”

Again, he only nods, but he allows you to strip him of his soaked shirt and pants. You do the same. Standing with him, naked, you hug him tighter than normal. “It’s okay.” For once, the feeling of his soap doesn’t bother him. The grime from his hair that he hasn’t washed in too long, falls down the drain as you massage his head.

“Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.”

Dry, and somewhat clothed, you climb back in bed with him. Only this time, you are wrapped around him, his head in your chest once again.

~

Months of the same pass. The nights spent laying in one of your beds. The hot showers that calm him when he wakes from a particularly bad nightmare. But they are getting better. The time he wakes up fewer. The nights that he has to relive or watch a new horror in his dreams are less. Still, you sleep next to him. Neither one of you know how to fall asleep without each other now. The feeling of him beside you, calming in a way you never expected.

Soon you find yourself laying gentle kisses on the top of his head when you think he’s asleep. Most times, he isn’t.

~

After almost a year, you are family to everyone. And you have accepted that you aren’t going to be moving, even if you wanted to. Not that you want to. The weekly meals are the highlight of everyone’s week. Your spaghetti is still their favorite, however, you’ve taken to making six pounds and at least thirty meatballs now.

No one comments on the sleeping arrangements between you and Bucky. Neither of you really talk about it either. It just is. Sam threw a hissy fit when he saw the first time, but has grown to accept it, begrudgingly.

Either way, it continues. Although, you feel as if there is a new element of intimacy to it. The gentle kisses on his head aren’t just once in a while, they are every night. The soft caresses of his back as he hugs you tight, are frequent. The line of friends and more than is blurred.

~

On the one-year anniversary of that first meal, you fix spaghetti again. As everyone is cleaning up, you and Bucky in the kitchen, you notice the change.

He is happier. He looks better, more whole. The light that you knew was there before is back in his eyes. As he hands you a dish to dry, his eyes meet yours. The bright blue far less grey now. The smile he sends your way crashes over your senses. You almost crumble.

You are in love with Bucky.

~

That night, the dynamic changed. The purely platonic feeling of sleeping with him has charged energy. The kiss you give to the top of his head, shampoo still smelling heavenly, isn’t cold. It’s warm, it has sparks.

Long after he falls asleep you are still awake, hands running through his hair. Lifting yourself up, you press your lips to his cheek, lingering a bit too long.

“I love you.”

Content, you lay your head against his chest and listen to the beating of his heart. A beat you should have noticed was far too erratic to be asleep.

Long after you are asleep, he runs his own fingers through your hair. Gently, he places an identical kiss to your cheek.

“I love you too.”

He doesn’t notice the slight change in your breathing, even if he should. Because no matter how either one of you put it, you both confessed your love to someone you thought asleep.

~

The next day is awkward, neither one of you sure how to act around the other after the late-night confession you both thought one sided. The words you whispered to each other are now known and yet unknown to the other.

The night when you climb into bed beside him it feels different. Something feels wrong; like the soft-spoken confessions altered the comforting embrace from before.

Gathering all your courage, you speak. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” His voice hitches. He knows exactly what you are talking about.

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me too?” This time, it is your voice that cracks. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Your nerves getting the best of you, you move to roll over.

“Yes.” He holds you in place, not allowing you to move away from him. “Yes I meant it.”

“I meant it too.” The silent tears of happiness refuse to fall as he looks at you.

He nods before pulling you impossibly closer. “Good.” He places a gentle kiss atop your head, one so like the ones you did countless nights before. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~

Despite the half-asleep and fully awake confessions to one another, not much pans out. The physicality of your relationship doesn’t change much. A few soft touches here, a few brushes there, but no kisses. Not yet. Not even in private.

“Bucky.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me.” You didn’t dare say it before you entered the sanctity of his room. Didn’t dare disrupt the delicate balance in place.

He doesn’t move. You don’t say it again. “What is holding you back?”

“I still feel like this is a dream.” He looks at you. “If I kiss you, I might wake up.”

Stepping closer, you place your hands on his shoulders. “This isn’t a dream Bucky.”

“But what if it is! What if th-” You don’t let him finish. Cutting him off, you gently press your lips to his, waiting for him respond, to react.

It takes him a while. But the long seconds pass when he cradles your head in his hands and pulls you closer. The silent and urging press of his lips against yours, not moving, but there, makes you melt. You pull away to breathe.

“Not a dream.” You gasp, still trying to get air. He shakes his head, forehead resting against yours.

“No. It’s not.” You can’t answer him before he kisses you again, this time his lips more urgent than before. You respond in kind. The messy movement of lips against lips, the tethering clutches of shoulders and hair, connecting you and Bucky in ways you had only hoped for.

When his tongue slips out and catches your bottom lip, you actually moan, granting him enough room to slip into your mouth. The languid petting of tongues, of mouths, of hands, or hair, is enough to set you on fire.

He pulls away first. “Doll, if I don’t stop I won’t.” You look into his eyes and see the silent plea there. _Not yet._

“Let’s get ready for bed.”

~

A couple weeks pass. The kissing getting more and more intense. The public display’s getting braver. No one says anything, except Sam and Steve. Both of whom are the ever-vocal cheerleaders and mockingbirds.

With your hands in his hair, straddling his lap, and his hands on your hips, holding you close, you don’t hear the two men come in. The press against him numbs your mind. The feeling of his fingers running along your sides, almost tickling you if it wasn’t so arousing. His tongue against your own in tandem with your own fingers in his hair is enough to make you moan obscenely.

“Get a room will you.” Sam huffs, silently happy for his friend and the man he is accepting as one.

You pull away from Bucky, both of your eyes wide as you take in the position and the audience. “You were supposed to be gone all night!” You say, almost yelling at the laughing duo while Bucky still rubs circles into your sides.

“Change of plans.” Steve looks at both of you. “Although, it seems as if you two might want to change yours too.”

Resting your head against Bucky’s, you look into his eyes and start to laugh. Neither of you can hold it in; the laughter for the situation, the laughter for the sheer acceptance of your best-friends, and the laughter for the utter love between the two of you.

You’re still laughing as he picks you up and carries you to his room. A room that is more a joint space than his now.

You’ve barely stopped when he kisses you goodnight and the two you fall into a peaceful oblivion.

~

“You’ve never built a blanket fort!” You yell at him in disbelief.

“I grew up in the Depression [Y/N], Steve and I were a little busy trying not freeze to death.”

“Right.” You look at him, mischief in your eyes. “Want to learn?”

He looks at the floor, almost like a kicked puppy. “Yes.” You break out into a smile.

“Alright, grab some dining chairs while I get the blankets!”

A half-hour later, and one marvelous blanket fort later, you and Bucky are happily watching some old movie he insisted you watch. “Why did you want to see this again?”

“I used to love it as a kid.” He explains, a scowl on his face. “Now though. I don’t see the appeal. This is awful!”

“Yeah Bucky, it’s pretty bad.”

“I have an idea of what could make it better.” His eyes move to yours, a different brand of mischief dancing within them. 

“Do you now?” You mock as he leans closer, breath fanning your face. _Mint. I love mint._

“Yeah.” He’s holding you, arms wrapped around you, hands splayed on your back and he kisses you with a new urgency. The hot wet kisses of a few nights ago are nothing compared to the absolute wreaking ones of today. The warmth and solitude provide within the blankets cause a shiver to run up and down your spine, and he deepens it when you moan a little.

The heated and charged air causes all reason to go out of your mind. The only thing you know is Bucky. The sound of the television long forgotten as he lays you back and starts to trail kisses down your neck. Mouth feverishly moving in tandem with your breathing, he slips his hand, his flesh hand, under your shirt and lets it rest on the skin just below your breasts.

“Bucky.” You gasp as he kisses and licks your collar bone.

“Yeah?” His mumbles, mouth never leaving you.

“Don’t stop.”

“Never.” Before you can say anything else, he kisses you again, tongue harshly slipping into your mouth. You let out a sheer pornographic moan.

Hands in his hair, you feel him pull downward, slipping your shirt up and over your head. The cups of your bra doing nothing to hide the hardening peaks. As his hands cautiously palm your breasts you can’t help but arch into his touch. You don’t know what sound you make, but it spurs him on. Trailing another round of kissing back down your stomach, he reaches the waistband of your pants.

“May I?”

“Yes.” You know your voice sounds breathy and needy, but at this point you don’t care.

He pulls down your sweats gently, far too gently if you had anything to say about it, but you don’t. You can’t as he trails his cold metal fingers up your thigh and stops just short of where you know you want him and where he wants to be.

“Bucky.” You lift your head and look at his smirk from his position between your legs. “Do something.”

“Of course.” He mocks before leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses where his fingers just were.

He purposefully doesn’t touch your clothed core, instead slipping back up and gently removing your bra before latching on. A gentle suck and an even gentler lick along with the light touch of his fingers sends you into a haze. The months of waiting was all foreplay you guess. No one could possibly be this responsive. Yet you are. You are as his licks, sucks, and pulls harder. The noises coming from your mouth, your throat, pornographic.

His flesh hand, slipping down from your head, his metal one still working your breast, reaches your panties. A deft finger slipping inside the waistband and tugging as he trails another set of kisses downward. Lips barely brushing over the hood hiding your aching clit sends you keening. His finger slowly sliding up and down the slit of you, wet and ready even if he refuses to believe it. Slow and small kitten licks at your sensitive nub is all it takes before you are grasping his hair and tugging, causing him to moan into you.

“Oh god.” Another breathy moan and another lick. “Bucky.” A harsher suck and you are done for. He feels your release on his chin, his stubble scraping the inside your thigh in a delicious burn.

“I need you.” You manage to gasp out as he slips a finger inside your clenching walls. A few more languid thrusts of his fingers and he is climbing atop you. Pants and shirt long forgotten on the floor next to yours.

“Are you sure?” He asks in between chaste kisses that have no place where you are.

“Never been surer of anything in my life.” He nods.

Slowly, almost painfully slow, he slips himself inside your velvet walls. A low throaty moan comes out of his gaping mouth. A mouth you pull down to your own as he bottoms out. Hips against hips; chest against chest; and mouth against mouth, he starts to move. The rhythmic push and pull of his hips with the sheer fullness and friction against that one spot that has you moaning louder than you thought possible is all you know.

Shallow thrusts give way to long and harder ones after a while, both of you in a sex filled haze. Words of promises neither one of you know, oh gods and names are thrown about as he shifts you to sit on his lap. You, hands on his shoulders, his hands on your hips, thrusts caused by one of you and both at the same time send you into a moaning mess. His lips on your neck, and you know there will be a mark there later, but now you don’t care.

You don’t care about anything at this moment but the two of you, so blissfully unaware of anything but the push and pull, the shallow and deep, and moans caused by one another. Minutes or hours, you don’t know, pass and you can feel yourself edge closer and closer to the familiar feeling of letting go. You can feel Bucky getting closer too. Leaning down and grabbing his face you kiss him like your life depends on it as you move faster. The delicious angle causing him to brush that spot _just_ right.

Lips still attached to his you moan as you cum. The high sending him into oblivion not long after you. Both of you still riding out your climax as you rest. Sweat and slick sticking to your skin, you look him in the eye and your heart almost bursts.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
